


what he knows

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, F/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha's only memories of the Winter Soldier are the two times he shot her. The most obvious scars on her body and they're both from him. </p><p>He, however, has slightly different memories of her. </p><p>Takes place several months following the events in CA: The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. appartment ambush

It was a few months after the shit hit the fan, and the only remotely good thing to come of it was discovering that Phil was alive. But even that was tinged with less pleasant emotions. She did not like being manipulated and she did not like being lied to. 

She’d declined moving into Tony Stark’s ridiculous tower, and instead had a number of new safe houses established. No one knew about the one she was currently headed towards, which was maybe why she got a little complacent. It wasn’t until she’d already dropped her purse and toed off her shoes that she realized the cup she’d left on the table had been moved. She could see it resting in the sink. And then she was turning on her heels to escape, only to be scooped up against a hard body she hadn’t realized was there. 

The grip was tight and secure, but it wasn’t actively hurting her, but that didn’t stop her from tensing and trying to pull away when she saw the metal arm. The body against her gave a sob and buried his face in her neck. She froze and ran scenarios in her mind. 

He was talking to her, and so she tried to listen to what he was saying in fast Russian. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you. I didn’t hurt you did I? I was so worried — I didn’t know it was you! Why would they do that?” 

She took a deep breath and let it out. She didn’t know what he was talking about, which was its own concern, but the biggest concern was that whoever he thought she was he didn’t want to hurt, so she needed to be her until she could get away. 

Her arms were caught under his, but she managed to awkwardly pat his back with her hands and said, “Shh. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

He pulled back after a moment, and she had to fight the instinctive urge to try to run before he cupped her face and turned it this way and that as if to check if she was lying, and then he was collapsing on her, head buried in her stomach and arms wrapped tight around her. 

She was baffled, but she petted the filthy hair of the Winter Soldier as if this was normal. 

The only way this day could get odder would be if Steve and Sam burst in after him. In dresses. She spared a few moments for the visual before the fact that the greatest killing machine she’d ever been told of was actually crying in her lap. 

Eventually he seemed to stop and after a moment he loosened his grip and sat up, “I’m sorry.” 

And now she has a part to play, so she reached out and cupped his cheek, “I’m fine.” He turned to kiss the palm of her hand and she smiled at him, “Why don’t you go shower? I will make tea.” 

He let out a breathy sigh and nodded, standing gracefully and reaching to help bring her to her feet. He kissed her forehead, softly, before going towards her bathroom. 

She considered running for a long moment, but he already found her once, so she might as well get as much information as she could. She put tea on to boil, hesitated, decided against putting anything in his cup, and typed out a detailed coded text to Clint to tell him what was happening and not to make any move yet. 

When he emerged she already had to fend off three text messages from Clint, each slightly more frantic then the last, and was sipping at her tea, his unreasonably drug free tea in front of the seat across from her.

He settled and took a long drink of the tea without any hesitation and she immediately regretted not drugging it, but she hadn’t expected him not to test it at all.

His gaze didn’t leave her at all, and he seemed desperate to see her. It would be sweet if it wasn’t completely inexplicable and if he hadn’t shot her both times she’d met him.

They sipped their tea in companionable silence until she finally broke it, eyes not leaving his, “Where did you go, after…after it all.” She waved a hand through the air.

He looked amused and reached out and she allowed him to catch her hand, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles, and it was his metal hand and it made her nervous but she refused to let that show. “After the helicarriers exploded?” 

She nodded.

He sighed and let her hand go, leaning back, “I…Knew that something was wrong, with my memory. So I went to find out what it was.”

She nodded again and gave him a supportive smile, “And you got it back? All of it, or just some?” If he actually got it back he would’ve been with Steve, she was sure, so the question was, what had he gotten in place of his memory? Had someone implanted a memory of her or was he mistaking her for someone else?

He nodded and shuddered, “Yes.” 

Her eyebrow arched and she took another sip of her tea to kill time, “Do you remember Steve?” 

His face closed off but he nodded, eyes sad, “Yes.” 

She, on the other hand, felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, though she showed no outward sign, because if he could remember Steve then she knew things to ask him, whereas she might misstep if she was asking about the history he had with whoever he thought she was. So she proceeded to do that, gently, and slowly he relaxed, answering when he was born with only a moment of hesitation, less hesitation about the orphanage, about Steve’s fights, about being rescued. 

She was considering getting up for more tea when he asked, still seemingly relaxed in his chair, toying with his cup, “You don’t remember me, do you?” 

She, very deliberately, did not tense or look surprised, and already knew how she was going to answer. If she claimed to know him he could ask questions she couldn’t answer, which might make him irate. If she said she didn’t at least she was being honest, and she didn’t think he wanted to hurt her. Either way, she had a good aim on his knee under the table, since she wasn’t sure if he was wearing armor under his shirt, but a hole in his jeans told her it didn’t extend down the legs. 

“No.” 

And he crumbled, like someone had cut his strings. His face was devastated before he hid it behind his hand, clutching at his face to the point where she was actually concerned he was doing himself harm. 

She kept the gun aimed under the table, and after a long moment asked, conversationally, “How did you know?”

He dropped his hand to look at her, his eyes were filled with pain, but he wasn’t making any move towards her. “We had — have, we have codes. Responses. You didn’t respond right.” 

She nodded and moved her cup slightly, it was a good system to have in place. She and Clint used something similar. 

His gaze followed her hand and he paled, slightly, staring at her cup, before his gaze jerked back to hers. “Did you drug me?” 

It hadn’t been that long since someone had looked at her like she’d betrayed them, but usually there was anger there, this was just sadness. So it was almost a relief that she could shake her head, and honestly say, “No.”

He frowned, and she couldn’t be surprised he didn’t believe her. “Why?”

She shrugged a shoulder, “Because I expected you to make us switch cups, and I didn’t want to drug myself.” 

Some of the tension leaked out of his shoulders, though he continued to look at her with the saddest eyes she’d seen outside of the time she’d had to go to the pound for a mission. “How many are on their way?” 

She considered lying for a moment, but it wouldn’t help the situation and somehow she thought he might be able to tell. “None.” 

“Didn’t you call someone?” The sadness was leaving his face to be replaced by concern.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She’d already had to deal with Clint being upset about the entire situation. “Texted, and yes. But I told them I could handle it.” 

“I could kill you and they wouldn’t even know!” He slammed both hands on the table, and leaned up slightly.

Her shoulders tensed and she shifted the gun, but her voice was calm as she asked, “Are you going to hurt me?”

He looked like someone had gutted him as he dropped back into his chair. “No!”

“So I can handle it.” She shrugged, lightly, again.

“You shouldn’t just trust — your partner, or handler, whoever is supposed to watch you is a fool and should be replaced. You should have backup for this.” And he seemed so defensive on her behalf, angered that someone wasn’t doing their job well enough that she couldn’t help but laugh. 

And now his gaze was yearning. It was too much. So she got up to get herself more tea. She kept careful track of where he was while she bustled, she was just getting new cups, because she wasn’t quite willing to reach across the table and grab his used one, when he started to chide her. “You shouldn’t turn your back on me.” 

The gun was in her hand and aimed unerringly at his throat before he finished his sentence, her other hand was steady as it poured hot water in the cups. She could hear him chuckle as she finally turned to meet his eyes, and then deliberately put her gun back. She grabbed both cups and placed them on the table, pushing one towards him. 

He reached out and cradled it in his hands, but kept his eyes on her, “Did you drug it?” 

“Would you drink it?” She was incredulous. She expected him to insist she take a sip of both, before, but instead of responding he just drew it to his face and took a long sip, eyes not leaving hers. “You’re insane.” 

He shrugged and sat back, “Maybe.”

She blew on her tea and waited for it to cool, almost regretting that she hadn’t attempted to drug him, though she wasn’t even sure what drug she would chose to use at this point. Knock him out, probably. Bring him to Steve. But it was too late for that. At least with the drug. She was becoming more sure she could convince him to go with her there though. 

She considered him, for a few long moments, over the top of her cup, “Who do you think I am?” 

“It’s not a matter of thinking, it is who you are.” His voice was sharp, his tone angry.

Her voice, in response, was gentle, coaxing. “Who am I then?”

His hand unclenched on the table and she felt herself relax slightly as he started to list something that he obviously believed to be the truth. “Natalia Alianovna Romanova, you were born in 1928 in Stalingrad.” 

Her eyebrow arched, but she suddenly understood why he was mistaking her for this person. It was true she was Natalia Romanova, before she westernized her name, but that was not her middle name. And she had been born in what used to be Stalingrad, maybe she was related to whoever he thought she was. She suspected that finding out when he was born and Steve, his concept of time got warped and he started to assume that anyone could live nearly ninety years and still look in their thirties. 

So her voice was gentle as she said, “I am Natalia Romanova, but I was born in 1984.”

The only sign that he heard her was that his voice got slightly louder until she stopped speaking as he outlined how she had been found after a fire, how she didn’t remember her parents, how she’d been taken in and trained from a very young age, how experiments had been done on her to make her more durable. 

She listened, patiently, to everything he said, before shaking her head and repeating. “I am Natalia Romanova, I may look like who you remember, but I am not in my eighties, I was born in 1984, in Volgograd — “

He swept an arm out and three of the cups still on the table went crashing to the floor. Before they’d landed she was across the room, gun trained on him, as he rested his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands. His voice was anguished and harsh, his Russian accent completely unaccented, “You could always remind me who I was! Who you were to me! Why can’t I do the same? How did you do it!” 

She kept her gun steady on him as he appeared to have a breakdown at her kitchen table surrounded by broken ceramic and spilled tea. 

Eventually he let out a harsh breath and straightened, standing carefully and then walking, unerringly, to the cupboard where she stored her cleaning supplies. She watched him, gun steady, as he got a dust pan and broom, as he swept up the broken ceramic and then wiped up the spilled tea. He then stood in front her, still halfway across the room, hands limp at his sides, “I am sorry.” 

She kept the gun steady, but nodded, and said, “Me too.” And found she actually meant it.

He made no move to come closer, and she made no move to lower her gun. 

Eventually he stepped just slightly out of arms reach and then lowered himself to his knees. “Are you going to kill me?” 

Her gun was trained between his eyes, and didn’t waver. “I don’t want to.” 

He nodded and continued to stare up at her, “What will you do with me?”

“I want to take you to Steve.” 

He hesitated, then nodded, “Promise me, one thing.” 

She narrowed her eyes, “What thing?” 

“If they are going to experiment on me, kill me.” 

Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded, it was frighteningly similar to a request she made of Clint when he brought her in. “I promise.” 

She tucked the gun away and leaned forward, hand warm on his neck. He continued to stare up at her, even as he felt the needle go into his skin and until his eyes rolled back in his head. She gently lowered him to the floor before getting what she would need, texting Clint and laboriously moving him to her car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. I have nearly all of the next chapter written and have started poking at the third chapter. It should only be the three, but there's inevitably a chance I'll add something else. I intend to post weekly on Wednesdays, so hopefully that will work out.
> 
> This is my way of dealing with the fact that Natasha didn't recognize James in the movie, but instead of assuming she was pretending going the she honestly has no idea direction. 
> 
> I'd love to hear comments, criticism, compliments and suggestions. 
> 
> And, as always, if you see a spelling or grammatical error please let me know. I read it through a number of times, but I am beta-less. On a similar note, if you're interested in beta-ing this, please let me know.
> 
> Also, do keep in mind that character tags and other tags will be added as the story progresses and rating may change, depending on how the final scene shakes out.


	2. coping with clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been beta'd by the wonderful [iamladyloki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamladyloki/).

By the time the Winter Soldier woke up, Natasha had managed to get him situated in a cell that Tony had built in preparation for trickster Norse gods. His bionic arm had been removed for examination, much to Tony and Bruce’s glee, leaving only about two inches of metal where it connected to his flesh. She had also had Bruce draw blood and tissue samples from her; if she had been around since the twenties as the Winter Soldier thought, there had to be some biological proof. She still did not believe she was who he thought she was, but she had been wrong about her memory before. 

He remained still, long after she had noticed a change in his breathing pattern, but it was not until she grew tired of waiting and called out that he swung to sit up and watch her. Natasha said softly, “You are awake.” 

He glanced around the room before his gaze returned to her and zeroed in on the bandages on her upper arm where she had let them take a tissue sample. He was on his feet in an instant. “Who did that to you?” 

She found it interesting that he was so protective of her over such a small bandage. She had trouble imagining a version of herself that would find being coddled charming. 

She didn’t allow her disbelief to show. Instead she shook her head and said, “I asked them to. Are you hungry?” 

He slowly sat back down, and then nodded, before glancing at where his left arm should have been. “Will I get it back?” 

She nodded and stood, saying, “Yes, after it’s been deemed free of hidden surprises.” Then she turned on her heel and left.

Although she had become fairly convinced that he would do her no harm, she did not entirely trust his motives, and so she continued to be the one to bring him food until Steve and Sam finally returned two days later. 

Watching the reunion between Steve and him (she supposed she had to start thinking of him as Bucky as opposed to The Winter Soldier) was slightly tragic. Steve was ecstatic, but Bucky seemed guilty. And though she had already had him cry against her, seeing him fight against breaking down with Captain America in the room and him still missing his metal arm was somehow worse. She gave them as much privacy as she was able, knowing that JARVIS would be recording the whole interaction.

Tony, as it turned out, had found some fail-safes in the arm that could’ve resulted in massive self-destructive explosions, so it was another day before his arm was returned to him. Tony said that he could upgrade it, but Bucky seemed less than interested in the concept, only showing interest in removing the red star from the shoulder. 

Steve had been insisting that Bucky no longer be locked up since he first arrived, but it took a few more days before the rest of the team was on board. No one bothered to tell Steve that the team agreed to it because Natasha voiced that she thought keeping him contained was no longer necessary. And as Tony pointed out, Steve was a soft touch, but Natasha was paranoid and he didn’t expect her to let anything rule her “since she was a robot and didn’t have human emotions.”

She very purposefully didn’t avoid Bucky, though the way his eyes inevitably followed her whenever she was in a room continued to be disconcerting. She knew he hadn’t told Steve anything about her, or who he thought she was, which she found even more concerning. They were relying on Steve to be a safety net for Bucky, and she didn’t like the fact that she was a safety net that no one else knew about. She didn’t want to be a safety net for someone she had no memory of.

It wasn’t until Bruce sought her out to discuss the laboratory results of her samples that she left the Tower for an extended period of time. She didn’t come back.

After a week it was Clint who hunted her down, which wasn’t unexpected because she’d gone to an apartment that she’d told him about. That didn’t mean that she didn’t nearly kill him when he showed up, unannounced, pushing through the door without even knocking first. The only thing that saved him from several stitches was the fact that he was carrying a ridiculous teddy bear in front of him and it took the knife straight to the gut. 

Clint stared down at the stuffed animal leaking stuffing and said in dismay, “You killed him!”

Natasha was too busy staring in horror at what Clint had brought into her house to respond, but eventually her eyes met his and she pointed, accusingly, at the costumed teddy bear. “What. Is. That.” 

Clint’s expression went shit eating and he proudly held the bear out and wiggled it around, as if he could entice her to take it. “This is a Bucky-Bear! They were apparently super popular way back when — Coulson had one so I got one specially made for you.”

She continued to stare in horror at the teddy bear with a fake metal arm that she could only guess wasn’t on the original design. Her eyebrows rose and she stared Clint down until he started fidgeting, put the bear down and offered an explanation.

“Well, you’ve been acting oddly since Bucky showed up. Well, no, you haven’t been acting oddly. You’ve been acting distressingly normal, since he’s been murder-eyeing you every time you’ve been in a room together, but he came to you. And then you ran away and have been hiding, so I thought you could take your aggression out on this. I don’t think Steve would like it if you kill his friend.” He patted the bear on the head and watched as it sadly toppled, more stuffing spilling. “I was expecting you to punch it more, it’s not really up for knife fighting.” 

She’d been relaxing in increments since Clint had shown up, and now she allowed herself to lean against the wall she’d previously been sitting against and rub at her temple. “Do you actually listen to the words that come out of your mouth?”

His grin was big as he settled next to her, casually leaning against the wall with his elbow, the bag he’d carried with him resting at his feet. “Nope, and you’re just trying to distract me. You going to tell me what’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath and had to look away from him when she said, “It’s…possible my memory has been compromised.” It wasn’t something she liked admitting, but for Clint she could do it.

Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel him freeze next to her. It was several long minutes before he finally asked, “How?”

“He,” She wet her lips and considered how to continue, “Thinks he knows me. I have no memory of it. It could be him with a transplanted memory, though I have no idea what that would gain. But I can’t risk that it’s me.” 

Clint contemplated her answer quietly for a while, leaving her to think about everything that came with someone tampering with her memories. “Who does he think you are?”

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova, born 1928 in Stalingrad.” She allowed herself to slide down the wall and stretch out her legs, and she was unsurprised when Clint followed her down, though he remained crouching, grin small but present.

“No offense Nat, but you are not a day over seventy.” His eyes crinkled as he laughed at her, and it somehow made her feel significantly better.

She shoved at his shoulder and he rocked on his heels but didn’t topple. “Clint. Be serious.”

He held his hands up to show he meant no harm, as if that was a gesture with any meaning for either of them. “Sorry, right, I just...you can’t take that seriously.” 

Her humor slowly bled away and she met his eyes with a hard flat stare. “I had Bruce run some tests.”

“Ah.” He grimaced and dropped down to sit beside her, stretching his legs out parallel to hers.

He was probably the only one she would’ve felt comfortable having this conversation with, so her hesitation was minimal. “It’s not indicative of anything for sure, but it was…abnormal. Both younger and older, apparently, from section to section in a way that shouldn’t be possible.” 

He waited to see if she would say more, and when she didn’t explain further he nodded and pulled the bag closer to him and started rummaging through it. “Okay, well, along with the bear I brought some vodka. Let’s have that and think this through.” The vodka he pulled was the kind she’d made him drink until he was sick after their first mission together. She’d matched him drink for drink, then gone to bed when he started vomiting. They’d come a long way since then.

He uncapped the bottle, took a short draw that caused him to make a face, before passing it to her. He knew that she needed it more than he did, but she would never take the first drink regardless of how much she trusted him. The glass was cold under her fingers, but the burn was comforting as she tilted the bottle and swallowed several mouthfuls. She let out a short breath and passed it back to him before speaking, running a hand through her hair in agitation, “It’s possible this is just residual from the experimentation they did on me. But…what if the experimentation included a memory wipe? Or if I’m on a mission right now?”

He took another swig from the bottle and considered her words for a few long moments, long enough for the burn to fade in his throat. “…You think you were told to infiltrate what, SHIELD? They clearly did that well enough without you.” 

She accepted the bottle back from him but didn’t immediately take a drink, laughing slightly and turning it in her hands. “Strangely, that makes me feel better.”

“I try.” He bumped her shoulder with his and then dodged the inevitable elbow. 

Her grimace returned, not even wiped away with the drink she took. “I could have a trigger though.”

He frowned and accepted the bottle back. “Didn’t a psychic check you over for those?” He remembered when he’d brought her in, the trouble it had been and how tightly under lock and key she had been for the first two months. He hadn’t been allowed to visit her, which wouldn’t have been so bad except he’d been put on temporary suspension as they decided if he’d made the right call. That didn’t mean she hadn’t seen a massive number of people though, interrogators, psychics, doctors. He was actually more then a little puzzled that irregular results were only just coming up, but he supposed that if anyone was going to have the tech to find something like that it would be Stark, and if anyone was going to go the extra mile to make sure of the results it would be Banner.

She snorted and poked his arm with one sharp finger. “Yes. A psychic I don’t know at SHIELD who may or may not have been HYDRA.”

He took a drink, but the grimace was from her words. “Ah. Yeah, no, I see your point.” 

The bottle was getting distressingly low, and she slumped further against the wall before accepting it. “Shit. I really hope it’s him with the faulty memory.” She felt a little guilty saying it, but it was the truth and Clint wouldn’t judge her for that. 

He nodded and put his arm around her. She allowed it, resting her head against the meat of his shoulder and sighing into the embrace. He kissed the top of her head before taking the bottle back and taking a drink. “Me too, Nat. But I’m coming with you to Winchester anyways. Finish that up.” 

She, obligingly, finished the bottle and put it to the side, and watched while he dragged another out of his bag before answering, “No.”

He stopped twisting the cap off and looked down at her, meeting her eyes with an incredulous arch of his eyebrow, “Look, I had to sneak out of the Tower to come after you and I still had to get rid of two tracking devices that Stark put on me. You are not sending me back there on my own.”

She wanted to protest more. She didn’t even know if she was safe to be around. She was going to be on edge the entire way there and back, but, well, she’d do the same for him. “Well, I suppose if I get triggered in the next few days it wouldn’t hurt to have someone who could potentially take longer to kill around to try and stop me.”

He grinned, took a swig of the new bottle, and handed it to her. “Gee, tell me how you really feel.”

“I feel like we’re not telling them where we’re going.” She tapped her fingers against the neck of the bottle and let out a breath, he shrugged and she moved with it.

“Okay. You going to be okay with the psychics digging around inside of your head?” His finger rose up to tap at the side of his head while he asked, but the words were enough to make her take a very long drink, stop for air, then another before handing it back to him.

“Better than the alternative,” she said bitterly.

“Yeah, better than the murdery murdery alternative,” his voice trailed off, and she immediately knew she wasn’t going to like the next words out of his mouth. “Speaking of murdery—”

“No.”

His chest puffed up and she jabbed an elbow at him, annoyed with the movement of her human pillow. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask!” he said, but he obligingly shifted so that she was more comfortable.

She clicked her tongue and said, “Fine. Ask.”

He set the bottle down by his knees and gestured, wildly, with the arm she wasn’t leaning against. She was pretty sure the hand motions were supposed to correspond to the question, but they looked more like claws and she simply didn’t understand. “Why, if Bucky-boy is making murder eyes at you, did he show up at your place and not at Steve’s?”

Now she was a little amused, and her voice warmed in response. “Those aren’t murder eyes.”

“Uh, yeah they are. All furrowed brow and intense and… Holy shit he wants to fuck you.” His brow furrowed as he mentioned it and then lifted with his realization. He turned to her in shock.

“I’m really distressed that you went from murder to fucking. Something you want to share with the class?” She hadn’t actually wanted to have this conversation, simply because even though it involved her she didn’t feel like it was any of her business. If she was anyone else she would’ve said she felt a little guilty about it, but she was fairly certain that it was just worry about her own memory driving her.

“Oh fuck, I’m right!” She ignored him and instead reached for the bottle and took a long drink. He continued to stare at her and then exclaimed, “Holy shit.”

Finally she sighed and put the bottle back down. “Stop swearing, and you’re only partially right. His memory is that he was in love with me.” 

He grabbed the bottle and took a long drink before making a face like he sucked a lemon, though within moments it was a leer, “I’m sorry, just, wow. Well, I mean, if you were going to have a type…”

She straightened and pulled away from him, eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“He is suitably terrifying for you to be attracted to him.” He held his arms out and gestured expansively before reaching over and tugging on a bit of her hair.

She huffed, accepted the bottle back and leaned against him again. “You’re an idiot.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “It all makes sense now though! Why he would go to you instead of Steve, of course he’d go to his honey instead of his best bro.”

He couldn’t see the face she made, but she made it on principle. “I object to all of the terms you just used. And it wasn’t like that.”

“Oh?” She could hear his disbelief, and she didn’t like it.

“Ugh, I can’t believe we’re going to have this conversation. Fine. He thought he hurt me. I think he had memory of shooting me but not seeing me after, whereas he remembered dragging Steve out of the water. Or it could’ve been the fact that if he knows me then I probably saw the worst of him and did just as bad. I still do just as bad. We can’t all be as virtuous as Captain America.” Her grip on the neck of the bottle tightened until her knuckles were white.

“Ah, I would’ve totally showed up at yours, too.” He hummed to himself and then carefully untagged her hand and took a sip from the bottle. “Are you sure this is legit, I mean, as far as he knows?”

“No,” she said in a huff of breath, irritated.

“And we’re just letting him run around the tower?” he said with no small amount of disbelief. 

She was irritated that she had to justify herself, even though she could respect that he wasn’t taking the safety of the team for granted. “If anyone can stop him it’s Bruce. Besides, he was let out because he knew parts of Steve’s history that I wasn’t able to find any mention of anywhere.”

“You sure they didn’t just discuss it earlier and you got the recap?” She knew that she was potentially compromised, and if he hadn’t asked she would’ve been irritated with him, but it was still annoying to have to justify herself. Even if no one else on the team had doubted her.

He should’ve known she wouldn’t just let a potential risk run around unchecked, but he’d asked so she’d answer. “I had JARVIS record all of their interactions.”

“You’re creepy.” His arm squeezed her shoulder and she knew he wanted them to be okay, for her to forgive him for having to ask.

And she did, despite herself, so her tone was light as she said, “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Rude.” Long moments passed and she took another pull of the vodka, holding it out to him. He took it but didn’t drink it, and instead set it off to the side. His fingers tapped against his leg for a moment before he shot her a look through his eyelashes and said, “Though…you know, him being in love with you suddenly makes things make more sense.”

“Oh?” Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him – he was walking on thin ice.

He grinned, fearless in the face of his potential death, and asked, “Remember when I kissed the top of your head last week?”

“Before I elbowed you?” She asked, dryly. She didn’t like public displays of real affection, unless they were used for a purpose. And as much as she was trying to learn to trust the team, she didn’t want to have to risk them knowing about her softness towards Clint.

“Yup!”

He didn’t continue and so, after a moment, she waved a hand through the air and responded, “…Yes.” 

He slapped his thigh, still grinning, “Well, I look over after that and there he is, murder-eyeing me, and it looked more serious then when he, you know, cow eyed you. I didn’t even know that part yet, but I was pretty sure I was going to wake up with him standing over my bed holding a knife.”

“Did he?” She could see that happening, which should probably worry her, but Clint was a big boy. Since he wasn’t actively bleeding, she didn’t think it was necessary.

“I have no idea, I haven’t slept in the Tower since.” He punctuated his statement with a wink and a swig from the bottle.

That surprised laughter out of her. “Alright. Point made,” she conceded.

He pushed her shoulder lightly and said, “It would be sweet if it wasn’t terrifying.”

“Clint.” Her disapproval was obvious, even as she stole the bottle from him.

“Yes, my Russian flower?” He fluttered his eyelashes and she resisted the urge to punch him, instead just dryly reminding him of some of the blackmail she had on him.

“I’ll tell Logan that it was you who drank the last of his beer.” He knew it for the threat it was, but he didn’t take it seriously. Instead he laughed and reached to grab the bottle from her again. They tussled for a few long moments until she emerged victorious, perched on his back with him facedown on the floor. She drank as much as she could before he managed to flip out from under her and lunge for the bottle.   
 By the time they went to bed, each on the floor, in the defendable area between the couch and the wall, it was so late that it was early morning. This had probably been a terrible idea since they had to drive the next day, and worse, deal with psychics, but it was the most relaxed she’d felt since Bucky had showed up at her apartment and cried on her. There was a reason Clint was one of the very few people she would drop anything for, and had. It was good to have him in her corner for this. Especially as she was starting to fear the Winter Soldier was probably correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Clint & Natasha friendship for all of you. 
> 
> You may have noticed I realized this is going to take an extra chapter, but I'm like 75% sure it won't have more then the 4 (unless it's a bonus epilogue, but it should be self contained in four.) I will continue to post on Wednesdays. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	3. missing memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been beta'd by the wonderful [iamladyloki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamladyloki/).

The drive was peaceful after the argument Natasha and Clint had about contacting the team. Eventually they decided to call Bruce’s cell from a phone at a diner where they’d eaten breakfast. The message was cheerfully coded, not because they were afraid of being discovered, since the bulk of it was basically that they’d be out of town for a few days and would come back in a week, but just to see if anyone bothered to learn the codes that had been provided for them. 

They’d both left their cell phones in a mailbox, not wanting to deal with the fact that even though they were supposed to be untraceable, Tony had had a hand in creating them. Which meant they potentially had tech he could trace in them, even if no one else could.

It didn’t take long until they were at the gates to the mansion that Natasha would have called ostentatious prior to stepping foot in Tony’s tower. She’d never been there before, just to the gates, though she’d seen the schematics before. She made a face, safe in the knowledge that Clint was safe and feeling the same way, as they were buzzed in.

The one person she was remotely fond of in the entire mansion was Logan.

She’d met Logan accidentally. Which was to say, she’d been in a bar working an extremely long but boring mission, and he’d been in the same bar. They hadn’t spoken, but had each been there for most of the night, when a group of men had shown up. They’d recognized Logan and seen her red hair and jumped to conclusions. She’d ignored the commotion until one of the men tried to grab her, thinking she was Jean Grey, and then she’d had his arm twisted behind his back and him pinned to the bar before anyone knew what was going on. 

The brawl had actually made her feel better about the boring mission, even if it did get both her and Logan kicked out of the bar. But she’d cheerfully liberated some bottles before it happened, so they reconvened elsewhere and were both equally pleased with the others fighting prowess and ability to keep up with their drinking.

They’d been fast friends ever since. 

Clint had accidentally shot him once. And then he’d shot him several times on purpose, which brought Natasha great joy, since, while both men were overly fond of her, neither was fond of the other. 

She knew some people thought they were competing for her love and affection, but she knew that they were each trying to be her big brother and one-upping the other. 

It wasn’t a surprise that Logan was the one who greeted them. She had no doubts that they recognized her from the one time she’d dropped an extremely inebriated Logan off at the gates and that whoever had buzzed them in had notified him. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then left Clint in his tender mercies as she headed off to find Xavier. She really disliked dealing with psychics, so it was nice to have something to smile about, even if it was the inevitable chaos her two best friends could cause. 

The smile left her face well before she stepped before Xavier’s door and was called in before she could even knock. She settled, ankles crossed, at the chair in front of his desk and met his eyes evenly. 

He stared at her over the tips of his steepled fingers and she had to fight the urge to flee. She was someone who spent most of her time reliant on the fact that she had full control of every aspect of what she portrayed to other people, but her mind told the truth. She eventually nodded slightly, “Do you know why I’m here?”

He continued to observe her before wheeling around the desk. She could appreciate the move, an attempt to put them on more even footing, but she wasn’t going to feel comfortable until she was well away. “I don’t. I do not read minds without permission, Ms. Romanoff.”

She nodded and spread out her hands, the speech she’d been going over since earlier in the car came out smoothly, “It has recently come to my attention that my memory may not be entirely accurate. I suspect it may be impossible to get those memories back; however, I have concerns that there may remain triggers from before my memory starts.” 

He eyed her, peaceful, and she could admit that there was something soothing in how calm he continued to appear. She didn’t like it. “As I understand it, when SHIELD took you in a psychic probed for triggers.” 

She folded her hands in her lap and nodded, “That’s true. But I don’t know who they were and I don’t know if they went far enough back. There is potential that my trigger may be from as early as the 1920’s.” 

It was vaguely gratifying to see shock cross his face, and to his credit he didn’t attempt to conceal it, instead nodding slowly and gesturing towards the couch that was in one corner of his office. “I see. Yes. If you are comfortable to do so now, we may start.” 

She remained seated and said, “I need you to understand, Professor, that I only do this because the safety of my team is at stake. If I find out that you have mentioned anything you see in my head, well, you’ll see what that will result in in my head.” 

He nodded and said serenely, “I would never break your trust unless the safety of my own team was jeopardized.” 

She let out a breath, stood, and walked to the sofa, as satisfied as she was likely to get with his answer. It was difficult to be there and to allow him into her mind, but it had to be done. She had to know. 

Having him go through her memories was odd; she couldn’t really tell what was happening, though she did feel physical pinches, now and then — and then suddenly she was immersed in a memory. It was not something she had ever remembered before, and it didn’t match to the childhood she did remember, but it was vivid. Her fingers are starting to go numb at the tips, the fingerless gloves she’s wearing no longer helping, and the metal is colder still against her hands. But she continues to take the gun apart as smoothly as she’s able, by the time she’s putting it back together again her entire body is shaking, though she’s trying hard to stop it. A warm hand claps on her shoulder and she knows that means she’s done enough for today. She looks up. 

She gasped as it ended, but he continued to sit across from her, eyes closed and didn’t show a sign that he’d noticed. Her hands were shaking, just like they had been in the memory, and she did a calming breathing exercise until they stopped. 

There were pinches again, but nothing else noticeable. Eventually there was the smell of cranberries and a woman singing a rhyme she didn’t recognize. And that was it. 

He opened his eyes and met hers. “I’m finished, Ms. Romanova,” he said. She realized he must have gathered from her thoughts that she thought the westernizing of her last name was ridiculous. He continued, “And there is good news and bad news.”

She gestured for him to continue, and he did so without any hesitation. “The good news is that there are not any triggers in your mind; the bad news it that this is because most of your memory has been erased. Even where they replaced it with false childhood memories has been nearly completely wiped clean. I’m afraid that it was done physically instead of simply being repressed. This means I am unable to get any of it back. It is likely they left small pieces that I won’t be able to find that you may, through meditation and time, but it’s unlikely.”

She listened to the rest of his explanation, both relieved that she wasn’t going to be a danger to her team and furious that someone had taken so much away from her. She didn’t even know for sure who they could be, though she already had guesses. She was able to find out exactly when her real memories started – when she was twelve, with some slight modifications. 

She didn’t like it at all.

She remained on edge while catching up with Logan before she and Clint got into the car to head back to the city. Clint took one look at her face, turned the music up and ignored her as she curled up in her seat. 

Since they’d taken her car he drove them back to her apartment and straightened things up since she wasn’t sure how soon she would be back. Clint took the couch to sleep, knowing without having to ask and still not having asked about what transpired, that she wasn’t quite ready to return to the tower yet. 

They returned the next day. No one questioned where they had been, beyond a few sarcastic comments regarding letting the team know about missions (Tony), asking if they have any injuries (JARVIS), and a warm welcome back (Steve). 

It didn’t seem as though anything had changed in their absence.

Steve cornered her two days later, showing more nervousness then when he’d jumped out of the plane without a parachute. He sat next to her at the kitchen island and fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers. “You know I’d have your back, right?” he asked, voice soft. 

She’d been mostly ignoring him until that point, letting him gather his own thoughts. But at his voice her head came up and she looked at him, noticing the tightness of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders. She was relieved that she could answer without lying, laying one hand over his and stilling his fidgeting. “Yeah Steve, I know.”

He laid his other hand over hers and offered her the sweetest smile while saying, “So, whatever you’re going through, you can talk to me about it.” 

She was fairly sure that an angel just got its wings or a girl scout her badge or something, just from the sheer force of the smile. It was a little daunting. But she was Natasha Romanoff and she would not give in, even if there were dimples. She let her hand rest under his but tilted her head and arched an eyebrow before saying, “Why do you think I’m going through something?”

His smile faded, much to her relief. It was hard to stay strong in its presence. “You’ve been acting…uh,” he hesitated for several long moments and she took the chance to remove her hand from his grip, instead resting it on the table. When he started speaking again his voice had gained some certainty, “Overenthusiastic. No, that’s not right. Over involved in a way I’ve never seen you get. Well, outside of missions and my love life.” He offered a smile at the last, charming until the end.

She countered his charm with a curled lip and arched eyebrow, before saying, dry as the Sahara, “Who said your love life wasn’t one of my missions?”

His eyebrows furrowed and he tried to stare her down, looking deeply concerned the entire time, “…I can’t tell if you’re joking so I’m just going to ignore that.” She met his eyes for a few long moments before he finally shook his head and waved a hand through the air, saying, “Don’t try to distract me, something is wrong.”

She hesitated, and realized that she didn’t actually want to lie to him. It was a novel feeling, and probably because he was always the best he could be and it almost forced those around to live up to his standards. Finally she let out a breath, dropped her eyes and nodded. “It is, but I’m dealing with it.”

His hand on her shoulder was heavy, but somehow comforting, and after he started speaking she looked up. He said, “Okay. Well, you don’t have to deal with it alone. I’m you’re friend and I’ll help you.” His smile was classic Captain America, and she couldn’t help but smile back sincerely.

She patted the hand on her shoulder and nodded again, saying, “I know.” He removed his hand, and started to fidget with the salt and pepper shakers again. After a few minutes had gone by she let out a breath of air and reached over to stop his fidgeting again, asking, “Is there something else?”

He was oddly hesitant, his eyes downcast for a few long moments, but it was Steve and he would always face problems head on. Eventually he nodded to himself and looked at her, though his tone continued to be shifty. “I don’t — if it’ll interfere with whatever you’re dealing with it’s fine, but you have history of switching sides — I wanted to find Clint to ask him but I haven’t seen him since movie night…” His voice trailed off, almost into a question, but she could tell he wasn’t actually looking for that answer just now. 

She arched an eyebrow and realized she hadn’t seen Clint since she’d cuddled with him on movie night. This brought to mind how threatened he felt about Bucky, and she promised herself she’d text him as soon as the conversation with Steve was over; however, for now she wanted to focus on Steve. Besides, she had a feeling she knew where this discussion was going. “Yeah, I switched sides.” She wondered how much he had bothered to research about her before approaching her. After all, her entire history, or the history that she knew, was readily available online from the destruction of SHIELD. She steeled her resolve, straightened her spine slightly and turned in her chair to better meet his eyes. Then she asked, even though she knew the answer, “This is about Bucky?”

He clenched his jaw and nodded, tight, before admitting in a soft voice, “I don’t...I’m having trouble helping him. Sometimes he lashes out or closes up and I don’t know how to get to him.” The hurt emanating from Steve admitting this was palpable.

She considered his face, drawn and serious as it was, for a long moment before pursing her lips and trying to gentle her voice as she stated, “He’s not the man you remember.”

He shrugged, helpless, and shook his head. “No.”

Natasha knew it was hard for him to admit it, and she also knew from spending time with Steve that it didn’t change things. Not really. He would continue to have Bucky’s back. But coming to terms with facts would be better now than later. She kept her voice gentle as she pointed this out, speaking softly as though she was afraid he’d spook. “He’s never going to be exactly like that again, you know. He saw things...he did things that he’s never going to forget and that has changed him. He might get more like how you remember him, or he might not. That’s up to him.”

He nodded, seriously, and answered sincerely, “I know, I don’t...I don’t need him to be the same. I just want him to not be in so much pain.” 

“I’m assuming you don’t mean physical.” She arched an eyebrow and tilted her head, trying to remember if he’d looked in pain. Of course, he likely had training to hide it even if he was hurting, she certainly did.

He shook his head before explaining further, “He’s got nightmares constantly. He won’t admit to it though, and I think they’re from the guilt he has from what he’s done.”

She wasn’t sure that Steve should be assigning guilt where it may or may not exist, but from her personal experience it was true. That didn’t make it necessarily true for him. “Helping others might help alleviate some of his guilt. Once he’s stabilized enough to go on missions, I mean,” she suggested. 

Steve perked right up at the suggestion, smiling brightly at her. “That’s a good idea.” His smile became extra charming; it was a new skill he’d developed, and she suspected that he’d learned from her. He asked, “Do you think you could talk to him? Spend some more time with him?”

He was so earnest that she actually felt a small twinge of guilt, so she tried to word her refusal carefully. Naturally she only got through the beginning before they were interrupted. “I’m not sure—”

Tony had only come in when she’d suggested the missions, and naturally she knew he’d be eavesdropping, but she wasn’t actually expecting him to jump into the conversation. Which, retrospectively, was terribly naive of her. “That’s a terrible idea! Haven’t you noticed that your Bucky Boy wants to murder our Russian spy?” Tony leaned across the counter from them, empty glass in one hand and the other braced on the countertop. 

Steve straightened and threw his shoulders back to make himself look extra impressive. “That’s not true!” His face contorted for a moment, almost falling as he turned to her and asked, slightly softer, “Is it true, Nat?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and shook her head. “No, it’s not true.” She was starting to despair that everyone on the team was terrible at picking up on social cues, though she knew, given the raggedy bunch of them, that she shouldn’t be surprised.

Tony held his fist to his mouth and coughed, “Bullshit!” into it. Steve looked momentarily confused at the gesture, and she had a moment to wonder what the 1940’s equivalent would have been before Tony started talking again, counting off points on his fingers. “He showed up at her house to kill her, but of course she brought him in, his memory is coming back but the conditioning to take her out is still strong and since she’s not his buddy from the dark ages it’s not overdoing his conditioning. Every time they’re in a room together he’s watching her like she’s the scariest thing there and he wants to kill her. Every time she speaks he starts twitching.” He folded his fingers back down before wiggling them towards her, leering, “Maybe he wants to make a skin suit of you.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes again at Tony’s exaggeration, before Steve’s voice, genuinely concerned, brought her attention back to him. “Nat, that’s not true, is it? Has he threatened you?” She could tell he was conflicted about what to do with the possibility of his best friend trying to kill her.

She shook her head and waved a hand through the air, explaining as if to a class of kindergarteners, “If I thought he was trying to kill me, I would be putting Tony here in a red wig while he slept and sending Bucky that way.” 

She could see Tony frowning out of the corner of her eye, but Steve was dogged in pursuit of the topic, clearly worried she was leaving something out. “So he hasn’t threatened you?”

She felt even worse for not wanting to socialize with him like Steve was hoping, but she could tell the truth about this, so she did, meeting Steve’s eyes squarely and making sure he understood. “I feel perfectly safe with him.”

Steve’s eyes searched her face for a long moment before he finally relaxed and nodded, just in time for Tony to scoff. She arched an eyebrow at him and he challengingly leaned over the counter and said, “Oh, perfectly safe you say? Then go on a mission with him.”

She gave a long, blinking stare, trying to process his words, before flatly not-asking for clarification, “I’m sorry, what.”

Tony’s eyebrow arched and his lips curved in a challenge, he pointed at her and continued, “You heard me. If you trust him, we’ve got a simple mission for you two to take. I was going to offer it to Capsicle and he could take Merida, but since you’re so secure with him, you can go with the Winter Smolder.”

Natasha waved off the inevitable question from Steve about who Merida was, while scoffing at Tony, “I’ve never worked with him before, that’s a terrible idea.”

Tony’s grin was triumphant as he slammed a palm to the counter. “Oh-ho-ho, so you don’t trust him!”

She let out a huff of breath, well past annoyed with Tony, and already feeling a little bad for Steve that no one wanted to help him with his lost best friend. She did at least have the knowledge that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her, even if he got killed in the meantime. Her voice was noticeably sharper when she responded, “I never said I trusted him, I just said he’s not going to kill me. That doesn’t mean sending me into a mission with someone I’ve never worked with who is suffering from a recent brain washing that’s spanned decades is a good idea. Why do you even think Bucky would be a good candidate for the mission?”

Tony’s arched eyebrow was incredulous, but it was clear he thought he was backing her into a corner. “He’s a sniper, he’s good backup right? That’s all you’d need. I guess we could send Oliver Queen as backup for the backup, then would you be okay with it? Trust Cyberman not to get you killed?”

Steve finally interrupted as they kept their gazes locked, neither backing down. He cleared his through and offered, hesitantly, “I’m not sure Bucky is ready for a mission.”

Tony waved a hand through the air, ignoring his valid protest. “Well, we’ll ask him. If he is then he and Anastasia can go because she doesn’t think he’s trying to kill her.”

She would have refused, honestly, if she hadn’t made the mistake of looking at Steve’s face. He was staring at her with such hope that she knew she couldn’t let him down by refusing. That didn’t mean she didn’t bite out, “Fine,” before standing up and walking off.

Tony called out, “Fine!” as she walked into the elevator. As the doors were shutting, she could just hear Steve saying, “Um, are you—” and then she was on her way to her floor.

She needed to get some sleep if she was going on a mission soon, and she would go on it even if Bucky said no.

Of course he said yes, and twelve hours later she found herself dropping into a hostile situation with him, hoping that she wasn’t making a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more friendships for all of you, plus Steve and Tony! Last chapter is coming up! And it will involve a mission with Bucky and Nat, what could go wrong?
> 
> I'm so sorry about the delay this week, I was finishing up my finals and, well, time management got a little bit away from me. The next chapter will, fingers crossed, come next Wednesday. Sorry again about the delay!
> 
> And, as always, let me know what you think!


	4. banter with bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been beta'd by the wonderful [iamladyloki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamladyloki/).

The mission went to hell obscenely early. It was possible that someone had simply been very good at their job and had spotted the irregular loop of the camera, but Natasha doubted it. It was far more likely that someone had been tipped off, which meant that once they got out of there she was going to find out exactly who had told Tony about the mission.

Despite the fact that it was going to hell, working with Bucky was proving to be surprisingly easy. 

It was certainly much better then the trip in had been. He’d stared at her the entire time she’d guided the aircraft down to the field, his gaze almost weighing her down. The only thing that had kept her from snapping was Clint’s soothing presence. He kept sniggering under his breath every few minutes, and that normalcy helped keep her centered. At least now that the fighting started, Bucky couldn’t stare at her. In fact, he was barely keeping an eye on her, but he still ducked to avoid her kicks, seeming to know where she would be before she’d decided. She and Clint also moved this smoothly together, but it had taken nearly nine years of fighting side-by-side. She knew he had the memories of them being on missions, but she didn’t. It was surprising to her, therefore, that moving with him was so flawless.

He didn’t try to draw off more than his share of the action, and the fact that he seemed comfortable letting her handle herself was comforting, given his earlier distress at her mild injuries. Even though she didn’t remember them working together, when he snapped out a “Down!” in Russian, she obligingly dropped, narrowly avoiding a shot from an upper floor. She watched the sniper topple with an arrow in his chest as soon as he’d fired the shot. 

They managed to get the data on the flash drive and deleted from the hard drive, though not without some losses. She ended up taking a knife to the leg, as well as losing a chunk of hair, and Bucky was grazed by a few bullets. If his left arm had been flesh he would’ve had a terrible wound, but instead the bullet had ricocheted off. Clint was the least bruised, though even he had to enter into hand to hand at the end and had a cut across his nose that he was still whining about.

Bucky didn’t even try to support her on the way out after she’d waved off his first offer. Instead he continuously scanned the area and had her back. Clint kept up a running commentary about the mission going to shit. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes once they’d made it back into the aircraft, the door firmly shut behind them. He snapped, “Where did the mission come from? You have a leak.” 

Clint snarled and grabbed the first aid kit, tossing it at her and taking the pilots’ seat. “Goddamn it Tony.”

She grimaced and took off her makeshift bandage, applying a second more suitable one and strapping herself in. “We’ll find out when we get back.”

Bucky nodded and settled in beside her, even though the copilot seat he’d occupied on the way up was free. She grimaced and set to cleaning some of her lesser scrapes, putting the kit between the two of them so he could do likewise. He hesitated for a long moment, then rose and walked to the copilot seat, not saying anything to Clint but staring out the windshield.

By the time they made it back she was feeling a little light headed, and she suspected that the knife may have been coated in something. Clint took one look at her and opened his mouth, but Bucky was already at her side, asking, “Where is the medical area?”

Natasha opened her mouth to snap out something defensive, but Clint was already answering, and between the two of them they managed to bully her into the elevator and onto the appropriate floor. 

She managed to settle on the chair by herself before grimacing again and admitting, “I think that something may have been on the blade. You’re going to need to flush it out.” She pointed towards a far cabinet that stored the saline. Bucky set to getting it while Clint located the suture kit.

Given that she’d never actually seen them interact, they did it surprisingly well, only occasionally getting in each other’s way. Clint tended to say something pithy when it happened, and Bucky just snarled. Before too long, her wound had been rinsed and had five neat stitches holding it shut. 

Clint shot her a curious look that she responded to with a minuscule nod, and they turned on Bucky, cleaning up his scrapes and cuts with antibiotic cream and Band-Aids. 

Clint used the My Little Pony ones on Bucky, which Tony inexplicably had in his otherwise serious medical kit, but put a standard one across his own nose once Natasha had cleaned the wound. 

The debriefing was terrible, even worse than their first interactions as a group on the helicarrier. Natasha spent most of the time rubbing her temples and rolling her eyes as Clint and Tony went toe-to-toe. Bucky just sat and glowered for most of it before finally snapping, “You’re putting your team at huge risk if you aren’t getting your mission sources properly. This is not about us being capable; this is about us going into a different situation than what we had been prepared for because you didn’t look into the mission properly. There is a leak somewhere, and if you are assigning missions it is your job to find that leak, unless you want your team killed.” He gestured angrily at Clint and Natasha before standing up and leaning towards Tony, bionic hand flexing where it was resting on the table. “Wanting me dead I understand, but putting them in danger I do not.” He stared Tony down for several long moments before pushing up from the table and walking out of the room. 

The room was silent until Tony broke it, a hand rubbing over his face, “Well shit, I didn’t know Cyborg could string that many words together in a row.” 

Natasha shook her head and turned towards Tony, meeting his eyes squarely as she said, “He’s right. There is a leak. How are we going to find it?” 

Naturally she was interested in helping to root it out. Given Hydra’s complete infiltration of SHIELD, it wasn’t unreasonable to think that something similar could have happened within Stark Industries. When Clint told her she wasn’t allowed to go, Tony backed him up. Steve apologetically sided with Clint and Tony after hearing that the knife she’d taken had been drugged with something unknown. He was extremely worried about her health, and to his credit did offer to hold off the mission until she was better. Bruce refused to get involved and only Sam insisted that if she thought she could do it, then she damn well could do it. 

Sam was fast becoming her favorite. 

In the end it was decided that Clint and Steve would go, which she thought was a terrible idea since she knew from experience how unsuited Steve was to espionage. It was apparently judged that he must have absorbed some skills from his time with her, and therefore was the next best suited. 

She considered parting ways and leaving them to their own devices, sure that it was going to end terribly, but she owed both Clint and Steve more than that. 

Much to her consternation, she found that she was still experiencing weakness and possibly some anemia. Once Clint and Steve left, she hunted down Bruce by asking JARVIS where he was, and asked him to give her a quick exam. 

“You do know I’m not that kind of doctor, don’t you?” He asked, exasperated, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

She grinned and said, “Yeah, but we don’t have that kind of doctor on our team, and if you think I’m letting Tony anywhere near me with medical equipment you’ve gone insane.” 

He sighed out, “Touché,” and set up the automatic equipment to scan her. Within a half an hour he was frowning over the results. “I’m not entirely sure I’m reading this right, but I’m fairly sure you should be dead.” She arched an eyebrow at him and he sighed, before tilting his head towards the ceiling and asking, “JARVIS, can you confirm these results for me regarding Natasha’s health?” 

The smooth tones of the AI came moments later, “You are correct, Dr. Banner, that the poison that Miss Romanoff has been exposed to should have resulted in a very slow death, even in very small doses. However, it appears as if her body has developed some sort of immunity to it. She will likely continue to feel the effects of the drug for five days, assuming her rate of healing stays constant, at which point there will no longer be any of the drug present.” 

She let out a breath and rubbed between her eyes, where the ache from her temples had moved, “Thank you JARVIS. Would it be possible for you to keep track of my vitals for the next five days?” 

“Of course Miss Romanoff, as long as you remain in the tower.” She nodded her understanding and smiled, reaching out to gently squeeze Bruce’s forearm. 

His worried frown transformed into a slight smile. “This has to do with the other test you had me run, doesn’t it?” 

She considered him for a long moment before nodding. “Yes.” They entered an impromptu staring contest for a few long moments before her lips twitched, and she spoke again, “I’m not entirely sure what was done to me, but I know that I’m potentially much older than I thought and that I look very good for my age. I suspect whatever was done to me is why this poison isn’t effecting me normally.” 

He wrung his hands for a moment before offering, “Do you want more tests run?” 

She shook her head, nose wrinkled, “Not yet. I’m still coming to terms with this. I’ll delay finding out exactly what else it means for now.” 

He nodded and settled next to her on the bench, “If you want to talk…” He trailed off and shrugged. She nodded and patted his shoulder, standing up and straightening her clothes. “I know. Thank you, Bruce.” 

After leaving Bruce, she first headed for the main kitchen, but upon seeing Tony sitting there she made the quick decision to go elsewhere. She knew that JARVIS didn’t hide anything from his creator, and she didn’t particularly want to deal with Tony’s questions. He wouldn’t leave her alone the way Bruce had been willing to. Luckily for her, Tony had set aside a floor for each of them, so she was still able to get her tea and curl up, even if it wasn’t the flavor tea she’d been craving. 

She didn’t leave her floor for nearly twenty-four hours, and when she finally did she had made a decision. 

She found him on the roof. He was sitting on the edge, legs dangling over, with his bionic hand curled around the side. She had little doubt that if he were to tip he’d be able to hang from it for long enough for JARVIS to alert someone. That didn’t mean he wasn’t potentially thinking of jumping though. She knew how hard the guilt could hit, and though suicide had never been something she’d considered, she’d seen many others turn that way. 

She made sure to kick a pebble as she walked closer, and she saw his shoulders tense and then relax, though he didn’t turn to look at her until she settled beside him. Like every other time that they shared a room, he spent long moments staring at her face, seeming to drink in the sight of her as if he was worried he’d never see her again. 

She peaceably let him look for a long time, calmly returning his gaze. He was an attractive man, more so now that he’d had a shower, though what really made him attractive was his attraction to her. It was interesting because she was used to people looking at her with heat in their gaze, often because she was good at being attracted to other people for the sake of the mission and they returned the sentiment. When he stared at her, he stared like he would die happy so long as she was the last thing he saw. It caused actual tightness in her chest and she had to look away, unable to take it anymore and unwilling to fidget. 

It was a little after noon and the city was thriving beneath them, but at that height it was somehow peaceful. It was where she’d saved the world, and she allowed herself a self-indulgent moment to examine the area where the device holding the Tesseract had sat. 

She took a deep breath and started to speak without turning to look at him, “How long have you known me?” 

Bucky let out a sharp breath at her words, and she could hear the sound of metal on concrete before he spoke, “It must have been ’45 or ’46 when I first met you. You were small but they told me you were seventeen. I do not know if they told the truth.” 

Her knuckles had turned white as she clutched at the ledge, waiting for something to click inside her and tell her whether he was telling the truth or not. Neither happened. She focused on controlling her breathing; she was still uncomfortable with having such large swaths of her life that she couldn’t remember.

Finally he broke the silence, his voice more hesitant than she’d ever heard it, “You believe me?” 

She shrugged and then nodded, finally turning to look at him as she answered, “I’m not sure if I believe you, but I know that I’m older than I thought. I know that I have missing memories and I know I was experimented on. So it seems plausible that you’re telling me the truth.”

His face visibly fell, and she wondered if any other members of the team besides Steve would’ve been able to recognize it. “I’m not lying. How can I prove it to you?” he asked.

She arched an eyebrow and after a moment of consideration she reached out and patted his hand. She tried to soften her voice when she said, “I don’t think you’re lying to me, but I think it’s possible you had memories put in, or something of that nature. Maybe all of it’s true, maybe none of it is. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m unlikely to be able to regain any of it.” 

He bowed his head, his hand flexing under hers. He let out a few deep and shuddering breaths before asking in a tone that could only be described as broken, “I see. Would it be possible for me to hold you, one last time?” He took a deep breath, let it out, and managed to beg, “Please.” 

She watched him for a long moment before nodding, even though he couldn’t see. “Alright. But lets move off the ledge, okay?” She took her own advice immediately, standing and walking towards where Tony had clearly started to do something with the roof before getting distracted by other projects. There was one bench put together and one halfway there, a sad potted plant that hadn’t been watered (possibly ever) sitting next to it. She stood by the bench, unsure if he was planning to give her a hug or do like before and sob against her stomach. She was still feeling the after effects of the drug, whatever it had been, and so after a moment of hesitation she perched on the edge of the bench.

What he ended up doing was approach her slowly, eyes dragging over her in a way that didn’t seem the least bit lecherous, before he finally was sitting right next to her, twisted to face her. His movements were hesitant as he placed one hand on her shoulder. With a mental roll of her eyes she scooted closer and leaned forward, against him, and in an instant he had buried his face in her neck and wrapped both arms tight around her.

It was oddly nice. Comforting, somehow.

After a minute his breathing stopped shuddering in and out of him, but still he made no motion to let go. She waited and then, finally, wrapped her arms around him in return. All of the tension left his body and he started to breathe deep and smooth. 

After what had maybe been ten minutes she started to pull back, and he let go of her without any protest. 

His eyes were wet and he made no move to wipe them away, gaze wandering over her in an attempt to memorize her. When he spoke his voice was tear roughened, even though she didn’t think he’d actually done more then tear up, “I can leave the tower in a half an hour.”

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head, saying, “No. This is the best place for your reintegration. Besides, Steve needs you here.”

He closed his eyes and let out a breath, steeling himself for something as he met her gaze again, “And you’re not planning on leaving?”

Her hand dashed through the air and she rolled her eyes, that was a stupid question and her tone said so when she answered, “No. They’re my team.” 

He took a bracing breath and nodded, saying, “I see. I’ll stay out of your way.”

She could feel her lips twitch as she tilted her head, meeting his slightly lowered gaze and saying sincerely, “You don’t have to.” 

He completely froze for a very long moment before frantically searching her gaze. A small hopeful smile curled his lips, though he didn’t voice the question that was clearly on the tip of his tongue. Instead, after a long moment, she spoke again, choosing her words carefully. “I wouldn’t be opposed to learning what memories you have of me.”

He nodded and said, “I would be happy to tell them to you.” The tension didn’t completely leave his frame and he continued to stay unnaturally still, waiting.

Her lips twitched again as she said, “And I wouldn’t be opposed to getting to know you.” She held up a hand to forestall his words, and he obligingly shut her mouth as she added, “But I’m not promising anything.” 

He nodded seriously in acknowledgment of her words before saying, “I would like that.”

She let herself smile sincerely as she held out her hand to shake, “Then it’s lovely to meet you, Bucky.” His hand was warm and dry in hers, the grip firm but not too tight. Her mouth twisted around the name, and after a moment she tilted her head and asked, “Actually, would you mind if I called you James?”

He squeezed her hand slightly, smiled and said, “I would not mind.” His tone was slightly questioning, as if curious about his reality and if this was actually happening.

She considered him for a brief moment, tasting the name in her mouth, and squeezed his hand back, shaking it as she said, “Alright. Then, it’s lovely to meet you, James.”

The smile that broke across his face was wide, honest and sincere. It made her chest hurt a little and she didn’t want to examine why, at least not yet. Even his voice sounded lighter as he said, “The pleasure is all mine, Natalia.”

end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed. I will be adding a bonus scene at the end within the next week.


	5. BONUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you watched through all the credits. here are your extra scenes.
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by the wonderful [iamladyloki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamladyloki/).

bonus.

The team found out three weeks later. At first, Natasha had not enjoyed hearing the stories he told. But when she forced herself to stop thinking they would actually trigger memories she started to find them somewhat enjoyable to listen to. However, she sometimes wanted to check the reality, especially when the story he told involved her doing something she wasn’t sure was physically possible. 

Which was why, about three weeks after their conversation on the roof, Natasha and James made their way down into the training room. They had slipped into Russian slang, as was their tendency, and were arguing good-naturedly. All that JARVIS saw was furious hand gestures and biting language that despite knowing Russian he was unable to interpret, right before, seemingly without warning, Bucky turned on Natasha and lunged at her. 

It took the team approximately ten minutes to dress and make it down to them. Just in time to see Natasha had pinned Bucky down, straddling his chest and hands around his throat. He was lying there, passively, and arguing something, brows furrowed, still speaking in Russian slang.

Neither of them acknowledged the team, crowded around the entranceway, until Clint threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed, “Are you fucking kidding me JARVIS? This is not an emergency! I was in the middle of the season finale! Goddamn it.” And stormed away. 

The rest of the team stayed as Bucky arched an eyebrow, and up-spoke what was presumably a question. Natasha leveled one hand off, made a slashing motion and responded with something that had Bucky bursting into laughter. She grinned and rolled off him and to her feet, offering him a hand and levering him up with seeming ease, even as he continued to cackle.

Steve broke away from the group and strode forward, asking, “What’s going on?” with his question being echoed by Tony who loudly asked, “Are you high?” a second after. 

Bucky waved his bionic arm through the air and said something the team couldn’t understand, and only stopped when Natasha pushed at his right arm and said, “James, you’re not speaking English.” And he stopped abruptly, wrinkling his nose. 

Sam managed a weak, “James?” still in the doorway, before Bucky spoke again.

“We were just sparring. I told her about a takedown she has done and she didn’t believe me, even though I was right—“ He gestured expansively, and Steve was watching him with a smile on his face. 

Natasha rolled her eyes as she interrupted him, “You were right this time.”

Bucky threw both hands in the air and exclaimed, “That was one time I wasn’t right and I still say you could do it, you just need a smaller partner!”

She scoffed and poked his shoulder, saying, “There is no way that is possible unless I was taking out a ten year old. Was I taking out a ten year old?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed and he shook his head, pouting slightly, “No! He was just a very small ninja!”

The team watched the two quarrel like a game of tennis, until eventually Steve interrupted, confused, and asked, “Wait, when did you see her fight this, uh, small ninja?” 

Bucky’s mouth clicked shut and his face closed off quickly, gazing off to the left. It was Natasha who rolled her eyes, nudged his shoulder, and answered, “It was ’54 that you said, James?”

Bucky turned to face her, eyes searching for a long moment before the easy relaxed grin returned to his face and his shoulders dropped some of their tension. “’56. The takedown you did today was from ’54, the ninja was after that.” 

She nodded her understanding then started walking towards the door, saying, “Right. And you were right that I could do it, so I’ll get lunch. I’ll be back in an hour or two, have fun!” as she walked through the crowd of her team and away. 

Tony, Thor, Sam and Bruce had all parted for her without thought, and were now left staring at a grinning Bucky who was patting at his pockets, and then swearing, “She took my credit card.”

Steve was grinning, and clapped Bucky on the shoulder, “So, you and Natasha seem to be getting along?”

Tony could be heard saying, “What.” but everyone ignored him. Sam shook his head before chasing after Natasha to find out what was going on that way, while Bruce hesitated, and then decided to stay. Thor clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “It is good news that our Natasha is making friends with Steve’s Bucky, yes? This calls for a celebration!” And he wandered off, presumably to get the celebration together. 

Bucky, in the meantime, hadn’t moved his gaze from Steve, smirking like he used to and tilting his head forward, “We’ve known each other for a while.” 

Steve tilted his head, and asked, “Longer then the first time you shot her?” And Bucky flinched like he’d been shot at the question, losing his smirk, and nodded. Steve considered and started to guide Bucky out of the room, arm around his shoulders, “How long?” 

Bucky cleared his throat and allowed himself to be led away. “Uh, since she was about seventeen?” 

Bruce fell into step behind him, being followed by a still confused Tony, and he asked, voice soft, “And what year was that?” 

Bucky visibly hesitated, shoulders tensing under Steve’s grip and answered, “Nineteen forty-five.” Steve stopped abruptly, and Bucky took a few steps more then turned around and held his hands out. Bruce stopped right behind Steve and Tony ran into Bruce, sending all three men half a step forward.

Tony, peering over the shoulders of the other two, asked again, “What.” 

Bucky shrugged, “I mean, seventeen-ish. Never ask a dame her real age and all.” He then offered a grin, pulled his phone out of his pocket and said, “And look at that, I’m going to go join her and Sam at the restaurant. Bye!” He took off before anyone could stop being stupefied long enough to go after him.

After a long moment, Steve frowned, “Bucky doesn’t have a phone.” Then he patted his own pockets, swore, and took off after the other man. Bruce nodded to himself and followed at a more sedate place, planning to go back to the laboratory; he’d been working on something after all.

Tony gaped, before finally calling adamantly into the empty hallway, “But he wanted to kill her!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I am probably going to do some oneshots in this universe. Let me know if there are things you want to see and I'll see how I feel about it.


End file.
